Authors: Sara Wolf
Tags: #General Fiction
Table of Contents
“Since the first time we ran into each other, every girl’s bed I’ve slept in, I’ve wished with all my heart it was yours instead,” He murmurs.
“Liar.” I snarl. “Let me go!”
I stop struggling when his hand ghosts up my back, plays with the hem of my shirt, and dips below it, fingers tracing my spine so tenderly I nearly let out a gasp.
“Every girl,” Lee leans up, planting kisses on my jugular. “Every touch, every moan, every sensation, I imagined was coming from you. Because of you. Do you know what that does to a person’s mind? I’m insane now. Insane because of you.”
Copyright ©2013 by Sara Wolf
All rights reserved. This work or any portion thereof may not be
or reproduced in any way, with exception of review purposes, without the written consent of the author.
This is a work of fiction.
Any resemblances to real persons, events, names, or locations are coincidental and a product of the author’s imagination.
For questions, concerns, or comments, please contact the author at
In Which Lee Montenegro’s Crotch Is The First Thing I See
For the third time today, my roommate’s huge boobs are distracting me from studying.
“Are you sure you won’t come to the party, Rose?” Selena flips sleek black hair over her tan shoulder. Her red mini-dress shows off the long legs and heaving chest that makes members of the XY sex love her so much. After a month of sharing our dorm room and seeing how not-Chanel my clothes are, how little I drink, and how much time I spend studying, Selena’s decided to never speak to me unless she needs my help. And since her shorter, plumper friend Brittany is down with bronchitis, I’m the fallback frump who’ll make Selena look better at this party.
“It’s okay, really.” I force a smile. “I’m not good at the whole ‘drink until you pass out and wake up filled with shame’ thing.
“You’re so funny!” Selena laughs. “Guys love funny.”
No they don’t.
I smile wider.
They like melons and matchstick legs
“I saw Greg staring at you in Humanities,” Selena dabs lipgloss on. “He’s into you. And he’s going to this party. You should come.”
“Really, I’m okay.” I tuck a dishwater-blonde strand of hair behind my ear. “Jackson’s exam is tomorrow, and if I don’t get this A I’ll be in serious trouble. Scholarship, and all that.”
I have to keep on top of grades to keep the scholarship money coming. One slip and my time at prestigious UCLA is over. I can’t ask anyone for help. I can’t mess up. Mom and Dad’s company is tanking thanks to the economy, and they’re struggling as it is.
“Fine,” Selena groans and picks up her purse. Her clicky heels stop in the doorway. “Um, just curious – you
gone out with someone, right?”
My face heats and I splutter. “Y-Yeah.”
“Right. Just checking. Don’t wait up for me.” She winks and in a cloud of synthetic cherry perfume, she’s gone. I groan and sink my chin onto the desk. Yeah, I’d gone out with someone; Will Hart in eighth grade. We kissed behind the curtain in drama club and he practically drooled in my mouth. All through high school, my friends tried to set me up with someone, but the set-ups tended to choose my friends instead. I was always sort-of grateful – secretly terrified one of them would be a repeat of bad-kisser Will. And it’s not like my high school was chocked with cool guys, either, so I never really got around to dating.
No one needs to know that. Ever. Everyone here’s had seven million boyfriends, even the geeky mathematics majors.
I close the textbook and stretch my arms above my head until they crack satisfyingly. Outside the window an autumn-rose sunset kisses the horizon. The campus is darkening, lampposts flickering to life and illuminating couples walking. It seems like everyone here is so experienced. They talk about relationships and jump from one boy to the next with such grace I can’t help but be a little jealous. Will I ever be as cool as they seem? I’m fine, but I’d give anything to seem as worldly, mature, and sexy as Selena is.
I sigh and look at myself in Selena’s huge mirror. I’m taller than her – a lanky 5’10. My nickname in highschool was Plank – for my height and flat chest. I’d never had the beautiful curves other girls seem to have. It’s like I’m stuck in a perpetual 12-year-old’s body. ‘
You’ll be grateful for it when you age slow,’
Mom insists, but I just want to wear strapless tops and bottom-hugging jeans and not have them sag off me like wet spaghetti. My pale blonde hair is my only real pretty feature – fading streaks of sky-blue the last evidence of a high school senior dare. I’ve got my Dad’s brown eyes and freckles. Selena’s face is tan and flawless. The only time my skin tanned was when I fell asleep babysitting and got scribbled on with brown markers.
If I stole Selena’s body, I’d be unstoppable. The world would be mine. Or at least, a guy would look at me for more than just the answers on my worksheet.
I grab my towel and shower bag – I need a hot rinse to clean my head of chem equations. The bathroom’s empty, just the way I like it. I hate showering while other people are around. I scrub coconut shampoo and conditioner into my hair and breathe in the sweet, cloying aroma. When I’m done I wrap the towel around me. My wet slippers squeak down the hall. Someone slams into my shoulder and I land on my butt, hard, clutching my towel around me. The impact stars fade in my eyes, but I feel a strange warmth on my legs. I start apologizing.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you –”
“But I’m really glad I’m seeing you.”
The voice is deep. Messy black hair hangs in a guy’s hazel eyes – his lashes long and cheekbones so sharp and high I thought he was a girl at first glance. The faint stubble around his bow-shaped lips and broad, bare chest prove me wrong. And the tiny girl’s shirt with Care Bears on it he clutches to his naked crotch proves me
wrong. Naked. Crotch. I bolt up instantly and panic-walk away. He fell out of my neighbor’s room – 109. The door hangs open, a topless girl sleeping in her bed.
“Hey! What’s the rush?” He shouts after me. My face is nine temperatures, all of them boiling. “You forgot this!”
I pivot – there, in his long fingers, are my purple t-rex underwear. I dropped them from my dirty clothes bundle. This guy’s smirk as I stride up tells me he thinks I’m a five-year-old dinosaur-obsessed boy. Or a freak. Or both.
“Pervert,” I snap and grab the underwear back, careful not to touch his hand or look any lower than his neck.
He quirks a dark brow. “
were the one who tackled
“I didn’t tackle anyone! Pervert!” I rush back to my room.
“Did that fall break your head and that’s the only insult you remember?”
I slam my door and lock it. I’ll definitely switch with Selena’s body, now, since embarrassment is burning this one alive. The first time I even touch a guy in college besides the occasional paper-passing and crowd-shove, it has to be accidentally, and with some player coming out of another girl’s room. Naked. I called him pervert like a tongue-tied idiot – I couldn’t say something normal or chill like other girls. Oh, no. That’d be too easy.
Nothing about college, I’m starting to learn, is easy.
The next morning, I find Selena passed out on the floor, an empty bottle of vodka in her manicured hand. Her makeup’s smeared and her hair’s a rat’s nest. I sigh and drag her into bed, take off her heels, throw the bottle away, and pull the blankets up to her chin. She snores and rolls over. It looks like someone had fun last night, at least.
Last night. I push the embarrassing incident out of my mind and get dressed in a soft gray sweater and worn jeans. The campus is silent. Birds chirp among the palm trees and a warm breeze teases my hair. The cafeteria is practically empty this time of morning.
“Morning, Rose!” Jen, one of the part-time cafeteria workers from my Lit class, waves a pair of tongs at me. Her pixie-cut red hair and multiple ear piercings are bright against the dull walls. I smile and choose a chocolate éclair.
“Hey, Jen. How was band practice?”
Jen’s in a post-punk impressionist metal-goth band. Or something like that. All I know is there’s lots of screaming and eyeliner and smelly dudes.
“Sweet, as always. Giselle sung really good. We’ll ace Battle of the Bands in L.A.”
“You guys got in?”
“Hell yeah! All thanks to me and my skills.” She mimes playing an air guitar. “You should come watch us play sometime. The finals are in two months, but we’ve got some gigs lined up in town.”
“Remember me when you get famous,” I tease. Jen laughs and tosses me a banana.
“Potassium for the braniac.”
“Thanks.” I head to a table. The morning sun is warm on my cheeks as I bite into the pastry. The eclairs here are good. Not as good as Bistro Miel’s, the bakery where I work, but pretty good. I don’t make the eclairs, but I man the register and get to watch Pierre make extravagant cakes and tarts. It’s my dream to open up a bakery like his, and to get as good as he is with pastries. It’s why I’m a business major, with a culinary minor.
The cafeteria doors bang open and a group of guys stride through and ladle their trays with oatmeal and bacon. They elbow each other, clothes slightly disheveled and obviously excited about something. They settle at the table in front of me. Jen, freed from duty by the lack of customers, slides into my table.
“Swim team.” She jerks her head at the boys. “Always up at the ass-crack of dawn.”
I recognize one of them; dark hair, hazel eyes – emerald green ringed with gold. A confident, easy smile. It’s the guy I crashed into. His gaze catches on mine and all the blood drains from my face.
“Oh no,” I whisper.
“Does Lee know you?” Jen asks.
“Lee Montenegro. That tall guy. New transfer student from some fancy college in Spain. Word is his family owns a purebred horse ranch in the countryside or some shit. Not super rich, but rich enough to buy his way into UCLA.” Jen snorts. “Doesn’t have to work for it like you or me. Not surprised he joined the water-ballerinas. He looks like the fruity type.”
Lee. That’s his name. I unpeel my banana and take a huge bite, trying to coat my stomach with food. I focus on my éclair. I’m focused so hard I don’t notice someone walking over until Jen snickers.
“Sup, pretty boy? How was gay morning sex with your buddies?”
“Jen,” Lee grins, teeth white against his tan skin. “You get lovelier every day.”
“Not gonna call me a dirty dyke like the rest of your jock buddies? Consider me impressed.”
“I only insult boring people,” He laughs. “And you’re the farthest thing from boring.”
Jen flushes a little, but doesn’t lose her sarcastic edge. “Gee, thanks.”
Lee’s laugh dies as he looks at me. “You look a lot different when you aren’t red in the face and screaming ‘perv’.”
“You look a lot different without the Care Bears clutched to your crotch,” I say. Why am I being an ass? Just play it cool, Rose. Think cool like ice, Antarctica, James Dean’s smirk, Beyonce’s hair. Jen’s expression grows amused. Lee clears his throat.
“The Care Bears were a metaphor for my sunny personality and ability to spread love.”
what you were doing in room 109 - spreading ‘love’.” My mouth runs on autopilot.
“I wouldn’t exactly call what happened last night in that room ‘love’,” He laughs.
“What would you call it?”
“Fun,” He flashes a smile. “A break from the complete boredom of this place. And life.”
There’s something sad in his eyes when he says that. But he shakes it off, playful glint returning.
“You know, for someone who called me a pervert, you sure do pick a lot of phallic breakfast foods.” He motions at the half-eaten banana and éclair.
“Aw, c’mon,” Jen snorts. “Rose wouldn’t know ‘phallic’ if it jumped in red paint and screamed at her.”
I blush and push my breakfast tray away from me. Lee chuckles.
“Don’t you have some ho to pick on somewhere else?” . Jen sighs.
“Yeah, yeah.” He starts back to his table. “Don’t get so overprotective.”
Jen huffs and downs my éclair in one bite, shooting him glares as she chews as if to spite him as he walks away.
“Nice going.” She swallows. “You got some good hits on his ego. Keep that patriarchal society down, one playboy retard at a time.”